And then you were gone
by scones-better
Summary: Miranda realizes she might have underestimated her feelings toward Andrea. MOVIE VERSE. One shot. One sided.


**Title: **And then you were gone… (one shot)

**Author: **scones_better

**Rating: **G

**Genre: **One sided feelings.

**Summary: **Post movie. Miranda realizes she might have underestimated her feelings toward Andrea.

**Disclaimer: **All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**AN:**This is my first Devil's Wear Prada fic ever and it's for law_nerd, whom had the winning bid on my offer for help_haiti, I hope you like it! I want to officially apologize for the delay! I'm nervous about posting this since it's my first Prada fic ever A huge thank you to peetsdenfor beta-ing this fic. Thank you to my girlfriend for her constant honesty and input during the writing process. So here it is, hope you guys enjoy it. ;)

**And then you were gone…**

Twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds: the exact time it took Emily to arrive with Miranda's _Starbucks _this morning. If the other "Emily" had picked it up, it would have taken fifteen minutes flat. Every single second of Miranda's time mattered and were accounted for. After all, there would never be more than twenty-four hours in a day: a ridiculously limiting time frame when working with idiots. Miranda had figured out long ago that assistants were of great aid in that department… Providing that said assistant didn't disappear in the middle of the most important trip in Runway's year. But Miranda was not going to think about Paris. Not now. Not _Again_. She had much more urgent matters on her plate: The Channel shoot was a complete debacle. Miranda was going trough the photos that a horrified Nigel had brought her: The models were all over the place, the lighting was off and there was a general lack of sophistication and elevation. Was Miranda reaching for the moon by demanding that they do their jobs properly? Was it so hard to push the envelope a little? Miranda reached for her glass of mineral water, immediately finding it. It was one of those details she had entrusted her assistants with. Having everything perfectly arranged on her glossy desk was of vital importance, but she didn't even think about it anymore. She knew that, everyday, without an exception, her office would be impeccably set up for her before she even set the toe of her Pradas' in the building. Miranda took a sip of her mineral water, still furiously inspecting the photos before her. She wasn't expecting that her grimace would come from the sparkling liquid instead of the pictures.

"Emily."

The lack of immediate response made Miranda's skin crawl. Her assistants' desks were only a few steps away from her for a very simple reason: their jobs consisted of being at her beck and call, to be available to her at all time.

"Emily!"

Miranda snapped the name this time. The new assistant hurried into Miranda's office, looking terrified.

"What is _this_?"

Miranda asked, her tone level. She was holding the glass with the tip of her thumb and index finger: a parasite in her otherwise orderly, perfectly organized office, a parasite that was making her lose her precious time but also reminding her of the stupidity and inadequacy of her employees. Miranda hated stupidity. Unfortunately, fashion tended to attract the most vapid of people, the kind that followed instead of instigating, the kind that were more interested by the fact that a bag was labeled Louis Vuitton rather than to value its impeccable craftsmanship (or lack of it, in certain cases). That also meant that they were incredibly incompetent at their jobs, unable to understand and follow simple orders.

"Mi-mineral Wa-water?"

The girl tried, her doe eyes wide and her face becoming paler by the second.

"Have the vapors of all the hairspray you insist on using finally burned a hole in your silly little head?"

Miranda asked, tilting her head slightly to the right, eyeing the girl's hairdo with disgust.

"N-no. Of course not Miranda."

"Well clearly there must be something wrong with you if you're capable of serving me Perrier. _**Lime**__ Perrier_."

Miranda spat the words with venom: if she wanted lime in her water she would have someone pressing a fresh fruit for her, not drink some pre-made stale tasting concoction that had clearly been created for lazy, tasteless people.

"I'm so so-sorry Miranda, I must have mixed it up with m-my own bottle. I'll ge-get the right one, right away."

"Emily."

"Ye-yes?"

Miranda eyes narrowed.

"Get me Karl on the phone, the twins forgot their homework this morning make sure they get it before their first class is over, and I need twenty Hermes scarves. Oh, and ask Donna if she has confirmed for Elmelma and if not ask about Gisele. That's all."

"Of co-course Miranda."

Miranda had returned to her seat without sparing the girl one single look. Without thinking, she started rolling the hand-painted ceramic beads of her necklace between her fingers, leaning back in her chair. None of her assistant had ever been this ridiculously inept. Emily, (the real one), was at least capable of such rudimentary tasks. Even _Andrea_, only a few months in, had been able to set Miranda's desk impeccably. Miranda had initially held very little hope for Andrea, but the younger woman had been able to take everything Miranda had thrown her way. Maybe this new "Emily" just needed more time, to be pushed further.

"I'm so so-sorry Miranda, I ca-can't reach Lagerfeld."

The new assistant quivered anxiously in the arch of Miranda's office, clearly petrified. Miranda's lips pursed tightly.

"Emily" was clearly not _Andrea_.

***

Miranda was flipping through the sketches from a new designer that she had discovered a few months ago. He had a lot of raw potential, the kind Miranda hadn't seen often in her career. She was in the middle of scribbling notes on a few post-its when Emily entered pushing a cart. Miranda took the time to properly arrange the notes, close the portfolio, handing it to Emily and taking off her glasses before even glancing at her personal assistant. When Miranda finally did look up, her lips twisted in a soft pout: five different lamps were lined up, waiting to be judged. They were of similar height and size but they all had drastically different styles. Miranda sneered at the first because it was incredibly gaudy with its over the top golden moldings. How on earth Emily could even have picked it up was beyond Miranda. The next three were decent with their slick and modern design but it was the last one that made Miranda smile, _**inwardly**_ of course. It was the one that had caught her eyes when she had passed in front of the boutique. She only had a glimpse of it but she knew immediately that it was the missing piece for her home office: the piece looked effortless, sophisticated and timeless: the union of classic look and unexpected materials. It was perfect.

"What are these? I don't want these. Emily, how many times do I have to tell you that I do not want my time wasted? Take those away. That's all."

Miranda waved her hands dismissively at the other lamps, showing her exasperation at their presence and Emily's ineptitude clearly.

"Of course Miranda."

Emily immediately removed them with her usual efficiency. At least Miranda didn't have to tell her to have the right lamp sent to her home, Emily could predict as much.

Emily knew the workings of Runway and even more so the ones of being Miranda's personal assistant, but her knowledge was purely memorization of bad versus good. There was no instinct, no anticipation. Emily knew exactly how Miranda took her coffee, knew precisely how to arrange her desk, knew which people Miranda didn't care for... But Emily didn't know _Miranda_ nor _Runway_. She couldn't quite grasp Miranda's taste nor could she effectively anticipate Miranda's needs. She was trained, much like a puppy, to do as she was told. That's why Emily had brought five lamps: unable to figure out which one was _the one_, she had taken the road of safety by bringing the lamps that fitted Miranda's description. _"Get me that small lamp from that boutique on that street I went by two days ago." _Miranda didn't have time to remember more details. She needed the lamp and her assistant should be able to handle the rest. It was, after all, a very simple task.

Andrea would have known. Once the younger woman had gotten over herself and her ridiculous fashion snobbism, she had blossomed into one of the best and most promising personal assistant Miranda had ever had. She had started out by memorizing and mimicking much like Emily had, but her attention to details and her determination to succeed had put her ahead of Emily in no time. Andrea could see beyond what Miranda asked and anticipate what Miranda would need and prefer. When Miranda had asked her for a table from a store, much like she had asked Emily for the lamp today, Andrea had brought one table, and only one. The _righ_t one.

But as Emily answered the phone, Miranda's aggravation toward her was tempered: she _knew_ that Emily, as flawed and selfish as she might be, wouldn't have the audacity of disappearing in the middle of fashion week. And it was most likely because Emily didn't know more than she was told, more than was necessary, didn't look further than her nose.

Miranda put her glasses back on, and started correcting the incredibly dry and pointless article on green and organic hair products: so much peachiness - so little sophistication. Was it so difficult to write a witty, compelling copy? Didn't they know, by now, that she expected so much more? "_Andrea had known"_ floated at the back of Miranda's mind.

The thought faded away as Miranda covered the pages with endless corrections and remarks.

***

The fork stabbed the piece of steak without hesitation, dripping butter and thick gravy unto the plate as it rose in the air only to be engulfed by Irv's gaping mouth. Miranda was appalled by the lack of refinement that her one and only superior was displaying. A potential investor for Runway had approached Irv and had insisted on meeting the famous Miranda Priestly before he gave one single penny to the magazine. That meant that Miranda had to tag along for a business dinner at Irv's favorite steak house. One would think that a man of his status would much prefer to eat at the Four Seasons or Le Cirque, but than again he was the one who insisted on having lunch at the Elisa's Clark lunchroom with the other employees. Miranda humored both men because she knew that without them there would be no Runway. The magazine's elevation and impeccable execution came at a high monetary cost, one that even Miranda herself wouldn't be able to cover for more than a few issues. Runway would suffer, even worst, disappear, and that, as far as Miranda was concerned, was far more terrible than listening to the gritting chatters of two men who knew nothing about fashion and had much more interest in cigars and cognac. Thankfully, the evening didn't drag out too much, and after tight smiles and pretend niceties, Miranda was able to leave the dreary restaurant. She immediately walked in the direction of the car that was faithfully waiting for her, dialing on her cell phone at the same time, refusing to waste one more second of her time.

As a result, Miranda did not notice a woman approaching her. She did not pay the woman any attention as she opened her tote bag. Miranda did, however, see red in more than one way. She lost her balance and fell rather ungracefully on the sidewalk, red paint splattered from her normally perfect hair to her pristine cream-colored Jimmy Choo. Security guards from the boutiques near by quickly took control of the animal right activist before she launched onto Miranda. She was yelling the trademark "Murderer!" and jabbering about the many crimes of the fashion industry. But Miranda heard none of it, all the noise around her being reduced to a hum. Disoriented, she looked around anxiously, allowing her driver to help her up. "_Where's Andrea?"_ Was the first thing on Miranda's mind. Miranda then remembered exactly where she was and that there were no personal assistant accompanying her. She straightened herself, walking with poise to her car, still clasping the mobile phone. She slipped onto the backseat without care for the mess she was creating, knowing that Elisa Clark would take care of it as it had always done in the past. She was thankful that the driver didn't try to start a conversation. He knew by now that Miranda Priestly didn't chitchat.

Miranda folded her hands into fists to stop their shaking. She wasn't scared of animal activists, paparazzi, and stalker fans: she knew that her name alone would ensure that anyone harming her would be taken care of by the justice system. She was a woman of power after all and while it came at a price, it also had its good sides. This did not mean that Miranda was, as the papers liked to put it, an Ice Queen, devoid of emotions. The assault had been unexpected, aggressive and public. It was normal, in those circumstances that Miranda felt, at the very least, slightly shocked. What was a bit more bothersome was that her mind had immediately and instinctively raced to Andrea. But it wasn't without logic: Andrea had never let Miranda down. The only time the younger woman had completely failed her was when Miranda had asked her to get her back to New York in time for the twins' concert. At the time, Miranda hadn't had the strength to do more then give Andrea a lecture. Andrea had shaped up and proven herself, even after The Book fiasco were she had witness Miranda and her then husband quarreling. Seeing how the younger woman had even managed to snatch a copy of the unpublished Harry Potter manuscript (in a ridiculously short amount of time no less) Miranda had to admit that, when she had asked Andrea to fly her in time for the twins concert, she had requested something impossible and that her anger had been more due to her guilt at being a somewhat inconsistent mother-figure than to any of Andrea's flaws. This was when the difference between Andrea and Emily (and most of the other employees at Runway) was most apparent. Emily and the others were more concerned about all the wonderful perks Runway offered and all the beautiful things they could get their hands on than they were about doing their jobs right. They rarely ever considered how much they could bring to the table, how much of a difference they could make. They didn't _care_. Andrea had accompanied her virtually everywhere, had kept silent in the rare elevator rides they had shared, and even had been allowed in the same car as Miranda, a privilege only very few were given. Andrea was the one who had saved Miranda from disgrace when Emily failed to remember the name of a guest. She was the one who had wanted to cancel Miranda's evening when she had found out about the divorce. She was the one who had incessantly knocked on Irv's hotel room door to warn Miranda about the ploy that was going on behind her back.

Andrea had _cared_.

Andrea would have noticed the woman approaching, would have tried to protect Miranda. She might have stood between them, shielding the older woman or maybe she would have pushed Miranda aside, fearing a more ferocious attack. Maybe Andrea would have been further back, dragging behind has she had the irritating tendency to do. Andrea would have yelled then, maybe even have ran to try and stop the woman.

But that was why Andrea had left Miranda standing alone in Paris, surrounded by reporters and paparazzi, and their endless stream of flashes and questions. Caring was what made Andrea so much better at her job than anyone at Runway. Caring was what prevented Andrea to go farther up because that would mean hurting people, even more than she already had. What had been Andrea's most valuable attribute had also been her biggest flaw.

When Miranda entered her house it was softly lit and silent. The twins were at a sleepover, which meant that Miranda had dismissed the other employees for the evening. She washed herself in a luxurious bath, and then dressed more comfortably: The Book would come shortly and there would be a prodigious amount of work to go through. This issue was proving particularly difficult as the graphic designers refused to properly organize the layout. How they even could think for one second that she wouldn't notice how off everything was, was beyond Miranda.

A few minutes later, Emily dropped off the book and put the dry cleaning away in the closet. Miranda wondered, briefly, if anyone would even notice, let alone care, that the clothes that she would bring for dry-cleaning tomorrow were covered in red paint. She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of that thought, grabbed the book and started right away on the evening's work.

***

Nothing.

Miranda had flipped trough the newspaper twice: a total waste of time really when she knew that if she didn't find it the first time it meant it wasn't there to begin with. She had even took the time to verify on the paper's clunky website herself. Nothing. _Rien_. Not one single word credited to Andrea Sachs. The younger woman had been one of the better additions to the journal, spicing up the drably periodical with smart and often entertaining pieces. Miranda knew that if Andrea continued on the right path, she could become an outstanding writer. That is, if Andrea kept writing, which obviously wasn't the case at the moment.

Miranda had picked her first copy of The Mirror three months ago. At the time it had felt like a spontaneous act, but looking back, Miranda thought it might have had to do with having fired yet another "Emily". She had read it hidden away in her home office, waiting for The Book to finally arrive. She had known, without a doubt, that Andrea had penned it: every word was infused with her natural determination, conviction, intelligence and overwhelming enthusiasm. Miranda had thrown the paper away right after, convinced that she would never indulge in such sentimentalities again.

Countless copies of The Mirror later Miranda had to admit that she missed Andrea's presence. It was quite a bizarre thing since Miranda had never known or cared much for any of her employees. It was partly due to the fact that she didn't have time for such details but also because Miranda didn't see the point in it. After all, the position of Miranda's personal assistant had one of the highest rotation rates at Runway. She was lucky if an assistant proved decent enough to last a full year. Why bother then to get personal with someone you would never see again? Not to mention, most of theme were vapid idiots. On a few occasions Miranda had received notes and gifts from past PA who were grateful for Miranda propelling their careers but they were always written with the same semiformal polite, empty words. But, somehow, Andrea had had been different. She had had a lasting effect on Miranda. Miranda had slowly grown used to Andrea's presence, allowing her to get closer to her, relaying on her when terrible things happened, depending on her to fix things… Miranda had trusted Andrea.

Andrea had abandoned her in Paris.

Miranda crumbled the useless newspaper and threw it in her paper bin. She turned off her perfect lamp on her perfect table. She went downstairs, discovering that The Book hadn't yet arrived. What was taking _so_ long? After years of education and work experience, to come up with a decent mock up of Runaway in a timely fashion should be an easy task, should it not? Was it unreasonable of her to expect them to actually do their jobs?

***

Miranda was standing at her window, looking at the endless horizon of skyscrapers, pulling firmly at her necklace's charm. Eleven months, twenty-five days and a handful of hours… It all felt like yesterday. The fashion world was quickly paced, and Miranda's mind was always ahead of everyone, already working and planning for the next issue. But once in a while Miranda would stop for a few seconds. Stop and contemplate, stop and ponder. Moving without reflection would be as much a waste of time as it would not move at all.

Miranda had been interviewing girls all week, failing to find anyone who could handle being a personal assistant. One girl had even started crying during the interview. Miranda had had seven different "Emily" since Andrea's departure, none of which had lasted very long. They all had been more brainless and careless than the last. They all had been beautiful, tall, slender, fashion forward and… Incredibly stupid. Miranda had to admit that there was a problem. That _she_ was the problem. Miranda kept hiring dense, useless girls because, that way, she wouldn't be disappointed. Because, that way, she wouldn't be left alone on a flight of stairs. Because, that way, she wouldn't get attached or emotionally invested.

But, more importantly, because that way Miranda wouldn't get _**heartbroken**_ again.

It had taken Miranda quite a while to figure it out. To realize that not only had she liked and cared for Andrea, she had fallen in love with her. It was absurd really, a woman of her age, of her stature, of her intelligence, falling for a younger woman just because said woman had shown her some concern, some extra attention, and some sympathy.

Andrea could have blabbed to Page Six about Miranda and her then husband's quarrelling, could have told them how she had seen the Ice Queen bare, make-up less, red eyed, old and wrinkled. But she had kept by Miranda's side, never betraying her. She had even tried to save Miranda, even after how ruthless and demeaning Miranda had been. Andrea had only been doing her job. But Miranda had grasped onto the nice and good in Andrea because she hadn't had someone like that in her life in such a long time. And just when Miranda finally felt safe, finally felt like she could really open up to Andrea, the younger woman had left, leaving Miranda alone and empty again. It had never stopped Miranda from being amazing at her job, of handling reporters and designers, or even distracted her from Runaway. It hadn't made Miranda's world stop. Nothing could. But there was a void, a gap inside her. Something that no amount of work, gorgeous accessories or time spent with the twins could fill. It had grown inside of her, slowly and surely, only to show itself on the rare moments that Miranda let her mind wonder. It took over her, invaded her and she couldn't ignore it anymore because it was starting to affect Runaway too.

_Enough_. Miranda now knew why those thoughts kept creeping up, why she looked for the younger woman when she was in danger, why she longed for her presence. But it had lasted long enough and Miranda had to move on. It was time now. She had nursed that pain long enough.

Miranda collected herself and sat behind her glossy desk, impeccably set up by Emily. She pulled her glasses out and put them on so she could more easily read the notes she had Emily take at the last run-through. She crossed out notes and circled others. Miranda had always said that fashion was about moving forward. That one must only regard the past as a source of inspiration to create something new, better, and fresher. She couldn't afford to let any more seconds slip by, lost and wasted on something that never was to begin with. Miranda knew that for her as well as for _Runway_, every second mattered, every second were accounted for. After all, the best had yet to come.


End file.
